The Chronicles of Before
by Borrowed Twenties
Summary: The penned origins of the titans. The death of Theresa's mother, the orphaning of Archie and bits and pieces that reach up to the time of Theresa's marriage. A prequel to How It Ended. JxT, NxOC, AxA
1. Blizzard

This is nothing short of a prequel to **How It Ended**, but it's going to last for about forever. Alright, maybe not forever. Still, I'm going to include the origins of our human heroes. It will be more on the angst and tragedy side, but occasionally you will stumble upon a neutral chapter here and there. It's almost like a somewhat compilation of the bits and pieces of origins which I have quite consistently injected in all my fics... It will be a mix of drabbles, stories and longer-than-my-usual-kind of stories. It depends. Well, alright, that's the end of this long author note. Yeah.

**Lady In Red**, I'm sorry, I can't find your account. Perhaps you would like to go to my profile, click on the 'Homepage' link, visit my blog and tag the tagboard? Then I will be better able to help you with this sort of connection.

Disclaimer: Class of the Titans belong in the viewers' hearts... And the director's legal documents. Argh, I guess I shall never get my hands on that piece of paper.

**Blizzard**

The hot water bottle was thrust into his hands firmly. But the gloved hands that now held the bottle shook violently, a mixture of fear and cold mashed together like a snowball.

"D-Daddy?" The metallic grey eyes stared up with innocent fear. He reached out on whim, grabbing the side of his father's coat. But he knew Daddy would go out anyway.

"Let go," his father's harsh voice sounded clearly in the cave. It echoed smoothly. Repeating itself for several times was like stinging the little boy again and again.

His father had never spoke to him like that. _Never_.

He shrunk back, hurt and angry. His mother wrapped her arms around him reassuringly, with whatever strength she had left.

He couldn't bear to look at his mother. She was quiet for her upbeat self and semi-conscious. A wide gash - no, _many_ wide gashes - lay open on her ragged face till Archie could no longer tell whether this wounded person was really his mother. He had seldom seen blood before, and it scared him. It chilled him to the bone, rattled him, made him tremble. The fall down the mountain slope had injured her the most. They were even lucky, his father had soundly stated, to have found a cave. A blizzard, he had said, was dangerous.

Or at least, that was all he had caught.

"D-don't go," he uttered tremulously. Whether it was fear or the cold that had seized his voice, he didn't know. Perhaps it was both.

His father shook his head. Always calm, he didn't seem shaken. But the composure didn't fool Archie. He knew when Daddy was worried; he could tell.

Daddy bent down and gave Mummy a peck on the cheek. Usually Archie would have burst out in a lengthy bout of "Yuck!", but he knew this was serious.

Somehow, it felt like Daddy was walking into a death trap.

Daddy pulled his coat tighter around him and gazed outside the cave. Pulling his son into a tight hug, he whispered gently, "I have to go now, son. I have to go find help for your mother. Promise me no matter what, you'll stay strong."

The waterworks had started, and he didn't even know. He bobbed his head with forced enthusiasm.

"I love you, Daddy."

It had slipped out unknowingly - that declaration of love.

His father nodded slowly. Casting a last look at his wife and son, he walked out of the cave with mustered determination. Stepped out into the cold, unforgiving night, which his son loathed so, and never made it back again.


	2. Handsome

Thanks to all of you who reviewed. It's really encouraging to receive your reviews! And yes, in response to **Invisible-Nobody**, it is an expansion of the origin stated in **A Ski Trip to Remember**. I mean Archie of course. For those who are reading **A Ski Trip to Remember**, I'm sorry that I'm going to put it on hold for a while. Exams and the like have to be studied and accounted for. Meanwhile, I'm going to try and keep this going as I can. This chapter foreshadows something that is going to happen later.

**Handsome**

A wail pierced the still, tension-filled air. So he was brought forth into the world, screaming and kicking and wailing.

"How is he?" a frail voice said from the bed.

Dr. Reynolds smiled reassuringly at the mother. She lay on the bed, weak from fighting to bring her bundle of joy into the world. "He's perfectly fine," the doctor said, giving her a pat on the shoulder.

She barely nodded. A content smile rested on her face as she shut her eyes quietly. Just then, the doors to the room opened. A young man, hair thick with blond curls, stepped into the room. He walked over to his wife. Slipping into the chair silently made him unnoticeable.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly. "I-I'm sorry I couldn't come till just now. I was in a meeting, and then it ended late. Then there was a traffic jam, and -"

"It's alright, Scott," she whispered back. "I'm fine. How is our child?"

Scott pursed his lips. "He's fine."

There was a moment of silence. For all what was worth she could not figure out why such silence had lasped between them. There, he sat for two whole hours. She, on the other hand, slipped away to the land of dreams.

When she finally awoke, she realised he wasn't there anymore. A nurse, however, was in the room. She called to her with a simple request of seeing her newborn child.

Minutes later, the nurse returned with her child. The mother reached out to her child like any mother would do. The bundle was safely in her hand, and she took her first look at him. His hair was straight, just like hers. Yet his hair was platinum blond, just like his father's.

Her husband chose to return at that exact minute. He smiled for the first time in a while when his gaze fell upon the baby. "He's adorable, isn't he?"

He gently pried him away from his wife. After all, he was his father, too.

Suddenly, the baby's eyes flew open. Eyes wide with a deep blue unmatched by no one, he began to cry. Scott, startled, nearly dropped the baby.

"Cradle him, Scott."

The father hesistantly stared at his child. Then with some reluctance, he swung the child slowly, back and forth. The incessant crying grew louder.

"Here, you take him," he said quickly, pressing the child into his wife's hand.

His wife rolled her eyes and cradled him. Miraculously, he quietened down and fell asleep again.

Both fell silent again. Finally, the father spoke up. "He's a handsome boy, isn't he?" He looked away, as if in fear to gaze at his own son. Not knowing what to say, he murmured a repetition. "He's a handsome boy..."

His wife giggled. It seemed she didn't realise he was at a loss of words. "Stop it, Scott, you're going to make him egoistic when he grows up."

Scott gave her a barely perceptible smile.

"What should we call him?" he questioned slowly.

His mother thought for a while.

"I know! Let's call him... Neil."


	3. Diagnosis

Did I say that the chapters are not really in order? Well, now I have. Of course, I won't jump back and forth from childhood to adulthood, but it is only chronological for each character. For example, the story about Archie started with his parents' death, and soon it will go on in his journey of life. Also, I do admit that I didn't think that far in **Handsome**. I was more of thinking about a likely happening which I won't state to ruin the fun. Unfortunately, I think I will have to get up to that chapter in **A Ski Trip to Remember** first. And if anyone has been wondering, yes, **Lyrea** from **ASTR** (A Ski Trip to Remember) will be included.

**Diagnosis**

The white-washed walls probably used to be pure white, but now it was a dirty, almost-gray colour.

She sat, hunched in her seat, worried sick. No, not worried till _she_ was sick - she wasn't the one who was sick. She didn't know the details and she didn't pretend to. All she knew it was something serious and that was it. Zip, zilch, nada. No one talked about it, not even her father.

She got up, feeling lonely. Tiptoeing helped as she peered through the glass window. The doctor nodded with much solemness to her father. Her father looked despondent and deflated. That was all she could see from the window, since all she was getting was their side views.

She decided that she would, instead, go to see her mother. Her mother was a brilliant woman of warmth and humour. She had never once been frail. Fallen sick, sure, but it wasn't something as big as this. Her father hadn't let on anything, but she could tell. She hated how her father could be so closed-up about this. Her mother, she knew, would have told her directly. She loved her father, too, but it was a different thing. She sensed it would be something big.

As she was walking down the hall, she stopped in her tracks. Her eyes widened. She reached out to grasp the wall, but she couldn't see or feel it. A blurred blue cloaked her vision. Suddenly, she saw her mother lying, pale, on a bed. She heard herself crying, and her father was gripping his wife's hand. It was surreal, nothing she had ever experienced before.

Just as suddenly as it had come, it went also. It left her panting with fear. It seemed like a dream, but she knew it couldn't have been. It had been so real and tangible. And most of all, it scared her.

"I'll ask Mom," she whispered to herself quietly. "She will understand."

Much instability and shakiness surrounded her as she walked quietly to the room. There, she peered into the door's small window. Despite explicit instructions not to disturb her mother, she still slunk in. The door was shut in a quiet manner.

"M-mom?"

Her mother was so thin now that she looked like, crudely put, a stick. Her bones were protruding; her face sagged. Still, her mother maintained that warmth disposure and perhaps fragile beauty that haloed her. Said mother cracked open her eyes tiredly.

"Theresa?" Her mother was a little on the surprised side to hear her daughter's voice.

Theresa smiled softly. She joined her mother, bouncing on the hospital bed. Her mother smiled too, and the lines that crinkled around her eyes looked like they were laughing along with her too.

The relief was unmistakable for Theresa. Just seeing her mother there brightened up her. "Mom, today, something happened."

"What happened?" Her mother curiously cocked an eyebrow.

Theresa bit her lip. "It was scary, at first. There was this thing that was just like a dream... And in this dream, I saw... I saw you, and Daddy and I were crying. It was... It was more like a vision."

Her mother's eyes widened considerably, and then her shoulders fell. It wasn't a big movement, but Theresa caught it all the same. Her mother quietly looked down, as though thinking over something. Then she raised her eyes up to her daughter.

"Theresa, I don't know how to tell you this... But this is the beginning of your visions."

Theresa blinked, confused. "What?"

Her mother sighed heavily. "This dream-like vision of yours is real. It is small snippets of the future... I don't know how to say this, but it's in my ancestry - _your_ ancestry."

For a second, the look on her face hardened. Theresa would later come to realise that telling of her vision to her mother made her realise she didn't have a lot of time left.

"You're kidding, right, Mom?"

Her mother shook her head slowly. "No."

Theresa gaped. Then she nearly squealed in delight. "No way! I can predict the _future_! Betcha _Daddy_ doesn't have anything as exciting as this!"

Her mother smiled serenely. "That's not true. You'd be surprised - your father's ancestry is much more interesting than you think."

"Really? What's that?" The puppy-dog look might work on a brown-haired leader a few ten years down the road, but unfortunately it didn't work on her mother.

"That's for me to know and you to find out. Even your father isn't aware of it." Her mother grinned. For a second, it felt like everything was back to normal. Then she sobered.

"Mom? What is it?" Theresa had noticed this change in her mother.

She saw the hesitation, and then her mother spoke. "Theresa... Lately I haven't been feeling too well. You know that, right? Has... Has Daddy told you about it?"

"About what, Mom?"

Her mother pressed her lips together. "Theresa, before I tell you, I want you to remember to stay strong after this."

Theresa bobbed her head.

"Theresa..." The hesitance, there, again. "I... I've been diagnosed with cancer."

All at once, the world came crashing down on her. Images of life without Mom struck her. The tears were starting to form in her eyes. But she knew it was just a joke - a bad joke, at that.

"Mom. Stop it, don't joke like that." She paused.

Then, it dawned on her that it was true.

Her mother, her beautiful, cheerful, hilarious mother, had _cancer_.

Even at her young age, she knew what it was. Cancer, a cruel disease that stole many lives away. Her heart sunk to the pits of her stomach, and it thudded from there. Time stood still for a while, the world going by her while she remained unmoving. Silence was, for a moment, defeaning, and it pounded in her ears. Perhaps it was her heartbeat, but she wasn't sure. She wasn't even sure if her heart was still beating.

"N-no. No! Mom, it can't be! No!" The horror was too evident in her voice; it made the dying woman wince.

"Yes, Theresa. I _am_ sick." That sad smile was haunting. "The doctor says I've only six months left to live. Theresa, I'm going to die."

Theresa shook her head vigorously. "No. No! You'll... You'll make it. The doctor will cure you. Any doctor! They will. They can!"

Her mother shook her head again.

For the second time in the day, Theresa realised something.

_N-no, it can't be!_ She screamed in her mind. Her vision came back to her - her crying, her father crying, that lifeless body belonging to her mother.

There's wasn't any more hope.

_"I've been diagnosed with cancer."_

The words rang true, aloud in her mind as the tears slid down, unnoticed. She rushed out of the room, wishing she could take it all away.

But she couldn't. She was angry with the world, angry with the disease, angry with her father, angry with her mother... And most of all...

Angry at herself.


	4. Sister

Ah, I am in a terrifically random mood today. During class, I was thinking of our favourite brown-haired leader - _my_ favourite, actually - and suddenly it struck me. I'm going to make this warm and fuzzy. Let us twist the tale around and give him a bit more normality, shall we? ...I take that as a yes. This will be a slight difference from what he seems like. After all, we all know just how strange life can get. Keep in mind his age. At four, you would be a lil' immature, no?

**Sister**

When he stared at the "bundle of joy", he didn't know what to think.

Both his parents gazed at him expectantly. They were probably waiting to hear his response. After all, the newborn had been held out in his mother's safe hands for him to stare at. He supposed that they wanted him to go all "Aww, she's so cute!".

Evidently, he was right. When the simple "Oh" slipped out from his mouth, the looks of expectance turned to slight disappointment. He, on the other hand, was speechless, save for that expression of "Oh".

Apparently he had heard from his friends that when they first got a new sibling, despite their misgivings, they had instantaneously fallen in love with said baby. Yes, he admitted he had misgivings about the baby. He was accustomed to being an only child till his age of four. He would have liked not to feel jealous, but he couldn't help it. And when he caught sight of the gurgling cuteness of the child, he knew he was beat.

The feeling of envy rose to an almost sky-high. Seeing how enthralled his parents were with his flesh and blood made him bite his lip. As much as he would like to share their joy, the words stuck in his throat.

"She's... She's really cute, Mom," he forced out finally.

The smile on his mother's face had the intensity of a light bulb. Jay couldn't even bear telling his mother how he felt.

Instead, he went off to the kitchen without another word. The bar stool seemed like a good option for a thinking place. Small as he was, he managed to reach the top safely.

"Jay, we're going out to grab some groceries. Stay here and don't touch anything, alright?" He heard his mother yell from the door.

He remained silent, knowing they would go anyway. Again, he was right. The slam of the door told him everything.

He hopped off the stool after a few minutes. Wandering around aimlessly, he stopped to gaze at the infant in the crib.

He had heard his mother call her a "carbon copy" of him. As he continued his observing of the infant's features, his sister opened her eyes.

She was small and had the deepest brown eyes he had ever seen. They were sort of like warm chocolate - fudge maybe? - with the tiniest hands in their little mittens. He smiled despite himself. She _was_ cute, in a way.

He knew she wouldn't have understood what he was saying, but he still talked to her anyway. In fact, the only reason why he talked to her was because she wouldn't understand it all.

"What makes you so special?" he asked softly, peering at the baby. "What makes you so much more special than I am?"

He felt a stab of hurt as he recalled the past nine months. His mother had been in a frenzy, preparing all the baby things. People had given her gifts for this sister of his. He had often felt overlooked, non-existent, invisible. His father hadn't taken him out anymore as well. Again he wondered why he had been converted to a nobody.

At that moment, she chose to let out a gurgle. Those eyes sparkled with happiness - happiness over what exactly, he didn't know.

He sighed and leaned on the crib. "Is it wrong of me to hate you?" he whispered to no one in particular. Deep down, of course he was aware of the answer. "Yes, I guess."

He murmured in a low tone, "It's not like you understand anyway."

Just then, the most amazing thing happened. She burst out into cheerful baby laughter. With a stretch of her mittened hand, she placed it in his. His eyes widened as she turned to look at him with the cutest smile he had ever seen a baby give.

Then he realised it. Who was he to judge against an adorable one-day-old baby? And it seemed that although he had been rather mean to her, she hadn't minded. He felt a little guilty. And for a start, all his hidden anger melted away with that smile.

His friends had fallen in love with their siblings at first sight. So _he_ hadn't. But all it had taken him was a second look to make him realise how much he was missing out on.


	5. Prediction

So I haven't been updating much lately. Yeah but I've been really busy. And I've become addicted to Hero and Bye Bye by Mariah Carey and Where is the Love by Black-Eyed Peas. I know, some of them are relatively old, but they're very AWESOME. Anyway, here is the latest chapter.

**Prediction**

New Olympia.

It was a bright city, with many grey buildings that hulked over her. They were relatively unfamiliar to her. After all, she was used to the mountainy regions and forests. She lived in the country where they were hardly any buildings at all.

The little redhead ambled down the street, gazing up in curiosity at the high-rise buildings. Her family - her father, her mother, her two older brothers - had decided to finally get to the city for a holiday. So, here she was, trying to buy the day's newspapers for her mother as instructed.

Atlanta wandered just one street down from the hotel. She had, indeed, brought her cell phone to make sure she wouldn't get lost.

Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks. There was a newspaper and magazine stand up ahead!

She quickened her pace immediately, glad to have found it. She paused right in front of it, all the while jiggling the coins in her pocket. The old man manning the stand was sitting on a high stand. He wore blue glasses which shielded his eyes, and Atlanta had to wonder if he was blind. He was eating some sushi, but there was something about him that screamed weird.

"Yes, how may I help you?" he asked, turning those dark blue glasses to her. Atlanta shivered a little - those glasses shimmered in the glare of the light, making him a lot more spookier.

"Uh, can I have today's newspaper?" Atlanta questioned with much confidence. She wasn't the type to grow all timid and fearful.

The man nodded. He pulled off the day's newspaper off one of the racks and passed it to her. Then he accepted the coins she passed him.

_"The one who stands in front of me  
Will ten years later come to see  
That the world will be reaching soon its end  
And Time can very much be bent_

_Bent on sending chaos through  
The world whose punishment he sees is due  
With his mighty powers he will seal  
The Mighty Gods, he will try to kill_

_But she will come just like the rest  
The seven heroes of the best  
The Mighty Gods will definitely bless  
And stretch and stretch them to the test_

_Then they will triumph  
And glory reigns  
For evil Time will be locked away."_

It was a mere murmur under the man's breath, but Atlanta - of course - did not understand.

"W-what?" She stared at him like he was looney.

The old man smiled wisely; the smile nevertheless was cryptic. "It was just a poem I was reciting out of memory." Humming, he rapped his fingers on the table. Those glasses shone again with much mystery.

Atlanta nodded slowly in confusion. She fingered the newspaper in her hands. "Thanks, I'll be going now."

The old man waved to her as she walked away. "Have a good day, Atlanta."

Atlanta continued walking on without turning around. With a sudden realisation, she stopped in her tracks. Horrified, she whirled around. How did the old man know her name?

To her astonishment, a sight greeted her - rather, the _lack_ of a sight would be more appropriate.

The street was still the same, and the road was bustling with activity and cars as per normal. But there was something missing, and straight away, she knew what it was.

_He_ was gone without a trace.

* * *

I just felt the Oracle should be introduced somehow. And instead of making it so commonplace to put Theresa meeting this man, I decided to try Atlanta. Hope it worked out just fine(:


	6. Stranger

Alright, so here is the next installment of this story! I was racking my brains to think up something about Herry and Odie, and it is indeed a hard thing to do. Not that they're not awesome characters, of course they are! And I decided that Ishall be impartial in dishing out chapters equally, so I wanted them not to be left out of the picture. Anyway it's fun to play around with all of their origins, and so here is one of them!

**Stranger**

It was late midnight.

He lay, tossing and turning, vaguely disturbed. The ceiling was dingy, grey and low that it almost touched his nose. It was a depressing sight. He knew he would have no choice but to adapt to this - today was only his first day.

He hadn't been able to sleep.

Maybe it was fear. Whatever it was, no matter how tired he felt, he just couldn't sleep.

And then he heard it. The creaking of his door, opening just a crack. He swallowed and kept still. He knew what was going to happen next.

His father came in. His breath smelled of whiskey, and in the dim light, Odie could see that he had not shaven for many days. He looked unkempt and drug-ridden.

"Odie," his father rasped, obviously drunk.

Odie merely trembled under the sheets, praying hope his father wouldn't try anything.

He didn't know what hurt him more, the fact that he had welts all over his arms from someone he used to love, or that his father had crashed into desperation and depression.

They had used to be rich. All the technology at his fingers, and everything along those lines. But then his father's business had gone into bankruptcy due to a few unfortunate mishaps. They were largely in debt and his mother was working three straight jobs to earn money. But his father, his once-loving father had turned into a drug addict. Maybe it was the stress. Odie didn't know. All he knew was that this man before him was only a stranger. And it chilled him to know his father would go as far as whip him with that sharp stinging belt of his.

"Odie!" His father approached. Odie's blood ran cold as each step drew him nearer. He snuggled deeper into the covers, trembling lightly.

Each step brought the stranger come closer.

Then he was right beside him. Odie cracked open an eye despite his fear. _Bloodshot eyes..._

Just then, his father stooped down. One of those rare moments happened, and he patted Odie's head.

"I love you, son."

As his father returned to his old self for a second, Odie bit his lip to restrain the tears. As soon as the moment had come, it went just as suddenly.

The stranger stalked back out of the door, leaving Odie back in his own cold, dark room, wishing that his father would come back.


	7. Gone

I was thinking, I said I would make it some of them drabbles, longer stories and shorter ones and all sorts of random writing. So here I bring to you one of my first drabbles here. As in, the 100-word rule inspired by none other than **Ranta's** awesome drabble system.

**Gone**

They're gone."

"Yes, Herry, they're gone."

He had never seen Grandma look so serious. No, this couldn't be true. None of this could. His father had promised to return from his cop duty, and so had his mother when she had gone to check on him. There were riots, but so what? His father was strong!

No, no!

He clutched his teddy bear wildly. It was the one that had been sewn together with simple stitches, the one that his mother had made. The one that he slept with every night.

And he cried for many nights with his Teddy.


	8. Dark

This is something I'm drawing from **Behind the Closet Doors**, these bunch of poems I wrote. I seem to like to toy with idea of Archie and darkness, darkness being both literal and figurative. His little hideout dreams, the only hopes he had for himself, are soundly crushed, which is, I suppose, a double meaning. So here it is, another installation to this little series of mine.

**Dark**

His surroundings were plainly dark, not an ounce of light that crept through the cracks of the closet. He smiled to himself secretly, broken pencil cocked.

Archie was hiding in the closet again, writing his poems.

To anyone else, he knew it would sound pathetic. But it was a great escape for him - from the outside world, from everything that tormented him. The other orphans sneered when they saw him writing. They would even snatch the paper from his hands, and if they were in a bad mood, they would tear it up. And there would go a brilliant spark of inspiration - gone, flickering and dashed to the ground and put out.

No, this was a much better idea.

He smiled and switched on his flashlight. Bright light immediately graced the scrap paper. He began scrawling his first few lines, cancelling when he made corrections because he didn't even have his own eraser.

In the dark, he was free to do what he wanted. No one could stop him. And to him, light was only too bright and too harsh - _reality_ was harsh. Needless to say, he loved the darkness, and he loved to let it consume him and swallow him up into it, where he would only have himself to face. Nothing else hindered him, not even his Archilles' heel. The darkness _was_ special.

A few hours later and he had completed about ten poems. It was near dinner time, and he decided he'd get out. He didn't want to face the strict caretaker, or worse - let anyone find out his little secret.

Pushing at the door with one hand, he gathered his things with his other. The door was to swing open, creaking on its hinges, as usual, but there was something wrong this time. To his horror, he realised that it was soundly stuck.

He pulled harder this time, desperately. The doors heaved and buckled but would not give. Fear and terror hit him as he realised no one even _knew_ he was in the closet. Not anyone, not the caretaker, not even the bullies down the hall! Suddenly, the musty, dingy smell that cloaked the closet was no longer inviting. In fact, it spelled terror.

This closet, he only then realised, was in the storage room. The point was, it wasn't used on normal days. This started looking more and more like a nightmare. The clutches of fear had him in his grip, and two not-too-encouraging seconds later, his stomach rumbled. Dinner was served now, and he was going to miss it. But that was the least of his problems.

Somewhere along the way, he must have dozed off. When he finally opened his eyes, the enormity of his predicament came two times harder down on him than yesterday. It must have been Lady Luck beaming down on him because the door suddenly swung open. He fell out - he had been leaning on the door, after all - and right into the light.

"There you are," the woman said sternly. It was the caretaker, and she didn't look too happy.

For now, he was too relieved to care. That is, until he saw Tim. Tim, the bully down the hall who always stole his lunch money. He wore a self-satisfied smirk, one that immediately raised his suspicions. And all too soon he knew why he had been trapped. It had been no accident...

And from that day onwards, he never crept into the closet again.


	9. Strong

Ouch, sorry I've been gone for eons. Well, at least I'm back (and with a crippling writer's block, gah). Okay, I shall try my best with this. I hope I can do enough justice to this story.

**Strong**

The door creaked on its hinges and Daddy let himself out of the room.

She stared up at his weary face, a picture of sadness that she would never ever forget for the rest of her life. Her own tear-streaked face mirrored his one. Red-rimmed, swollen colour framed her father's eyes. He shut the door. The simple click of the door falling back into its original, closed position had some sort of hurting finality to it, like.... Like....

It was over.

Theresa swallowed. Because it was - it was over.

Her heart sang with sorrow. That lifeless body that lay inside the room, on the comfortable, fluffy bed was her mother. It was just as her mother, the doctor, _everyone_ - even herself, with her vision - had predicted. Her mother had never stood any chance against the cruel blow of cancer.

Her mother, the fighter. How could this be?

She had taken her last breath and departed. The beautiful eyes she had, they had closed slowly and then she had left her own daughter.

Too much emotions... Theresa's head almost screamed. All the pain, sorrow, hurt, guilt swirled around inside her in a horrifying manner. Her father looked equally depressed, if not more.

Theresa felt like running away. She felt like running away to hide from this painful truth that her mother was gone. It was too surreal. But where could she pull away from the frightening reality? No, there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

She swallowed. She rubbed the tears away as her father walked away, down the hall. He seemed to be in a state of shock and a hard look had passed over his face. Theresa knew what would happen. Her mother had been the only one who could take his mind of work. And now that Mummy was gone, he would be once again consumed with his work, a dark world he would never be able to draw himself out of.

The words of her mother reverberated in her mind hauntingly.

_"Theresa, please promise me you'll be strong when I leave."_

She had promised, refusing to believe that her mother would be gone. Even if deep down inside she knew her mother wouldn't win the battle, there was still this stray ray of hope that lingered. She had been stuck half in denial and acceptance.

Her mother was gone, and she had promised to be strong. There was no way that she would back out of this. Right there and then, Theresa painfully made up her mind.

She would do justice to her mother. She wouldn't let her mother down. No, she would be strong.

She would be a fighter.

A chilling sensation struck her. It was almost as if...

Her mother was watching down on her, smiling.

* * *

Done. I hope the writer's block wasn't too evident. Anyway, please let me know what you think!


	10. Out

This is the story that had some foreshadowing in the earlier chapters. I wonder if anyone figured this out? I hope so. Anyway, on with the story!

**Out**

Her voice was strangled. "How long has this been going on?" she released finally, an air of coldness circling her very words.

The man sighed. "I'm sorry." He looked truly guilty, but the anger and the hurt that he had caused her was way beyond an 'sorry' could have helped.

She bit back a tear. "Sorry? That's all you have to say? What about our family? About _Neil_?"

Neil stood by the door, his heart thudding with apprehension. His parents didn't know he was listening on their conversation. He had a feeling this was something very private and it wasn't exactly advisable to intrude in this. He swallowed - he had never heard his mother so wracked with hurt, or his father so guilty.

"I'm sorry," the man repeated again helplessly, as if there was nothing else worthy for him to say. "I didn't mean to. But it just happened, and it went on for so long..." Gazing at his wife's expression, he let out another heavy sigh. "Even before Neil was born, I met _her_."

His wife looked away bitterly. "And that's why you were late for Neil's birth. That's why you were so awkward holding him when he was a baby. That's why you were so awkward with _me_! You've been having this... this - _thing_ with her for so long and you still dared to stay here?" She said 'thing', for she was worried if by chance Neil would come to hear of it, he would be positively heartbroken. She didn't know that her son was drinking in every word she was saying with paralleled dread.

The man wrung his hands. "I'm so sorry. But I have to go. I'm - I'm meeting her downstairs. We're going away."

For the first time in his life, Neil saw his mom tear. His heart halted. His father was going away? Why? How?

His mother choked back a sob with one hand covering her mouth. "Go ahead," she said, not meeting her husband's apologetic gaze. "I don't even know why you even stuck around this long."

His father must have been tired out from the apologies as he merely soundlessly picked up his luggage and turned to go -

- And froze when he saw his son dart into the room, blocking the only exit.

"Daddy? Where - where are you going?" Neil asked. Those seven-year-old eyes of a darling - no, _handsome,_ his father had called him that - son blinked innocently up at his father.

No, that look of coldness and lost couldn't have belonged to his dad. He refused to believe it.

"I'm sorry, son. But I'm leaving." The phrase rung out through the night, piercing his eardrums.

His ears - were they not functioning properly? He was his father's beloved son, his handsome son, his _loved_ son. And now his father was... _leaving_ him?

His heart literally slowed and the sound all around him thudded hard in his ears.

The last look he had of his father was again one of guilt. In fact, maybe if Neil had stared more tearfully up at his father, maybe his father would have relented and stayed. Or at least this was what Neil often told himself.

But there was no stopping him as he walked out of the door - and out of their lives.

* * *

Eh. At this rate I'm going, I think I'm going to have to say that the titans aren't that different from each other. Judging from all this emotional writing I've been mostly doing, it would seem the thing they would have in common is tragic backgrounds, even Jay to a certain extent (as you will find out later). And no, it isn't that his sister dies - it would seem a little _too_ cliched for me to do something like that.

Anyway, back to the story. In 'Handsome', when Neil is born, the father shows traces of awkwardness with his wife, probably because he's with someone else. Therefore, yeah his behaviour speaks volumes (or it turns out it doesn't, since no one guessed, eek) about what's going on. Eh, well this is a pretty cruel thing to do to young Neil - see, Neil even _clings_ to what his father called him (handsome) like a life buoy when he grows into a teen. Still, this is a story of tragedy, hurt and comfort. I hope that these kind of things won't happen in real life, it's really sad.

Alright, I would love it if you could spare a couple ole' minutes to review, thanks!


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